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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064291">What Was Buried Here Before My Heart?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbian_icon/pseuds/lesbian_icon'>lesbian_icon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV), Hannibal (TV) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dark Will Graham, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Murder, Murder Husbands, Mystery, Serial Killer Will Graham, Serial Killers, Unhealthy Relationships, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:01:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,014</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbian_icon/pseuds/lesbian_icon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks of the Ripper above him, a faceless man, carving the deer into his own chest. He imagines the Ripper pressing blood-covered fingers into his mouth, making Will swallow his own blood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham &amp; Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. In the Case of Richard Siken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>oh shit, hannibal fanfic? yeah it me. I'm back with a shitty hannigram fanfic instead of WRITING THE SEQUEL TO MY MCYT IM SO SORRY but uh here have this WIP yesyes. tell me what u think pls comments keep me going - reminder that my writing is kinda shit bc I am 15 and updates are slow because failing school lol - hope u enjoy !!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jack Crawford beckons Will in with a sweep of his hand. Will walks in, meeting the eyes of Hannibal before darting his own away. Hannibal’s suit is a crisp red, and it reminds him of the bloody spit he’d licked from Hannibal’s face in his latest dream. He bites his tongue so hard that it splits at the side, flooding his mouth with hot, salty blood. He swallows it down and runs the cut over his back teeth. The body is cooling on the dining room table, and Jack is staring at him expectantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will glances around the room. The body is lying, spread eagled on the table, with its limbs separated at the shoulder, elbow and wrist. Will walks around the table, admiring the killers clean handiwork and the clear removal of organs. A deer is carved into the victim's chest, showing clear artistic skill on the killer’s part. The dead man’s dick is shoved into his mouth, severed. The skin of his crotch is smooth, showing some form of surgical background. Just as expected; the Chesapeake ripper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you call me in? It’s clear who’s responsible for this.” Jack sighs, pulling a hand out of his fraying suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was hoping you could tell us more about the body. Why did the ripper mutilate the body like this?” A golden line sweeps across Will’s vision, and he closes his eyes. When he opens them, he feels the familiar warmth of the Ripper’s persona slide across his limbs and fill him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not mutilation. It’s art. A statement, a profession. The deer is a connection between the Ripper and the object of this display. He’s trying to communicate something to someone specific. It’s not a confession of hatred; the lines are too clean and concise for that. The Ripper shows anger through blood or excessive gore, and this is a clean and artistic scene. He believes he liberated the victim, elevated him to the status of a message for the Ripper’s target. It’s a great honor. What can you tell me about the victim?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack shrugs, pulling out a case file. “This is Connor Matthews, a 23-year-old man from Richmond. There’s nothing special about him; he’s an English student at the University of Richmond, well-liked, has no known enemies or connection to anyone with a criminal background. He's random.” Will shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not random. The English degree </span>
  <em>
    <span>means </span>
  </em>
  <span>something. There’s something else, though. Something about his personal life that we’re missing. There are hundreds of English students in Richmond. Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>one? Hannibal?” Hannibal steps up, placing his hand on Will’s shoulder. It makes him tense, then relax into Hannibal’s warm grip. It almost feels like the donning of the Ripper’s warm persona. It makes sense that the two objects of his affection (though the Ripper isn’t an affection that Will is proud of) feel similar to Will, who craves warmth above all else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re correct, dear Will. There’s clearly some correlation between the English major and the victim's particular mutilation. Perhaps some work that he’s trying to reference, perhaps an indication of the target’s background?” Will presses his palms until he sees flashes of color. What is he </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He opens them to examine the body with the Ripper’s eyes. The dick in his mouth stands out to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Ripper isn’t a sexual killer. He doesn’t rape or defile his victims before or after killing them. Why is there a dick in this guy’s mouth?” Beverly steps up from the corner of the room, her gloves making a schlick sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe the killer wanted to make the guy pay for something?” Will dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s not it. It’s more symbolic than that. The Ripper is a symbolic killer - he cares about the story and art his kills leave.” Will runs his hands through his hair. “What are the past references the Ripper’s used?” Jack coughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greek mythology, poetry, Norse mythology, classics in the literature world.” Will nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a poem of some sort. The last few kills from him were mythologically based; he wants to switch up the message this time. I’m still caught on the cock in his mouth. It means </span>
  <em>
    <span>something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I just can’t tell what.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would’ve thought his name would be Richard.” Brian jokes. No one in the room laughs, but Will’s head snaps to look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Brain shifts uncomfortably. He’s clearly still not used to Will’s presence on the field, nevertheless his strange behavior and deductions. </span>
</p><p><span>“It’s, uh, Richard? Like Dick?” Will’s eyes widened. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Good job, Zeller. Hannibal, do you know any famous poets with the name Richard?” Hannibal straightens his tie. </span></p><p>
  <span>“I don’t often consume works of poetry, but I’m familiar with a few. Richard Wilbur is the most notable, although he was famous quite some time ago. Richard Siken is the only other one that comes to mind. He’s a far more contemporary poet, though.” Will waves a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Siken, he’s trying to distance this kill from his others, which all use old myths and legends as their focal points. He’d choose a modern poet to communicate this message, so there was no confusion that this was a special kill to the police, and more specifically, the person he made it for. What are Siken’s most famous quotes? He’s not trying to confuse us, he wants to communicate with the viewer.” Beverly waves her phone, drawing the team’s attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be either ‘These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we’ll never get used to it.’ or ‘...because you want to die for love, you always have.’. Either of those seem like the one?” Will approaches the body, examining the elegant drawing of the deer on the man’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the second one. He’s trying to show Connor as a representation of himself. He’s dying for love. There’s a care in this drawing, a callback to a previous murder.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The woman on the deer…” Brian interjects. Will nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that one. The object of his affections has seen that crime scene, on the news, or in person. He’s trying to remind them of his work, to show them that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>they’ve seen him and that he sees them too.” He grabs a pair of gloves from a nearby box and puts them on before resting his hands on the arms of the dead body. “The cuts, here, here, and here,” He points to the severed bits of the man’s arms. “They’re almost like a ball-jointed doll, or, in this case, a puppet. The person the Ripper loves is controlling him, except they clearly don’t know about his affection. He cares so much about this target that it’s affected his work or his kills.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack looks at Will, almost contemplative. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you get into his head? Give us any extra insight?” Hannibal places his hand protectively over Will’s chest. It shouldn’t make Will feel like he’s on fire, but it does. He feels like he’s inhaling ash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve established that switching between personas to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>full </span>
  </em>
  <span>degree isn’t in Will’s best interest.” Jack fixes Hannibal with a glare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that, Hannibal. We have a serial killer on the loose, and you’re telling me that Will’s health is a priority over a <em>rogue killer</em></span>
  <span>?” Hannibal glares back. His voice, when he speaks, is slow and dangerous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am telling you that, yes. You are correct in identifying Will as your most valuable asset, but he’s also a human being. His health is a priority, same as the well-being of any of your team members. You treat him as a tool, and if you continue to do so to this degree, the tool will break. You have no replacement. Treat Will as the last of his kind.” Jack struggles to reign in his flaring temper, the vein in his forehead pulsing. He clenches and unclenches his fist, before taking a deep breath and rearranging his poker face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>Will </span>
  </em>
  <span>what he’d like to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know as well as I do that coercion into forcing a traumatized subordinate to work will result in the loss of your job. Everyone here wants to catch the Ripper, but I am ultimately Will’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>psychiatrist. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I cannot allow you to jeopardize my patient’s health.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack grits his teeth, turning his gaze from Hannibal to look imploringly at Will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know we have a short window of time before the Ripper strikes again-” Hannibal steps forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch yourself, Jack. I am more than willing to consult on cases, but I will not stand by to see my patient abused.” The shorter man turns to Hannibal, and their glaring match starts again. Will steps out and in front of Hannibal, cutting the silent fight short.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a problem, Dr. Lecter.” He shrugs off Hannibal’s hand and steps towards the body, closing his eyes. The golden pendulum swings across the blank inside of his eyelids. His eyes open, and he is the Ripper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I start by preparing the body for the final construction,” Will begins to circle the body, malevolent glee flashing behind his eyes. Brian takes a step away, nearly hugging the wall in his fear. Beverly won’t take her eyes off Will, tracking his movements with a terrified prey’s gaze. “I freeze it, to ensure cleaner cuts. I want this to be a concise, clean, and beautiful piece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This means I have time. Yes, I want to preserve this kill for my beloved, and also for myself. I consume this metaphorical piece of myself to become stronger,” Will taps the side of the body, where there are thin stitches, a clear sign of the Ripper’s signature organ removal. “I want a specific piece from him. I go in through the side because I want the liver. I want the cleansing part of this man, I want the part of him that processes poison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I remove the liver early on. I have a space to clean, butcher, and arrange the body before I take it to the scene I want to reconstruct it. The deer is cleanly carved. I have a good selection of knives, sharp. I eat the liver, but I’m not sick or unhealthy, which means I know how to prepare human flesh and avoid disease. I’m an experienced cook. These marks,” Will taps on the deer, tracing some of the lines. “are made by a sharp knife. Its purpose is to cut and slice meat, sinew, and even crack bone if used correctly. It’s a shorter knife, as judged by the surface level slices. My intention wasn’t to mutilate the muscle, just to carve my image on the first few layers of skin. I needed the blood for contrast, which means I was willing to wait until the body thawed for a bit. I kept the rest of the pieces in the freezer to keep them from bruising, but at a temperature that removed the concern for frostbite or cold damage. This means I have something professional, a meat freezer or some sort of commercial butcher freezer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have ample funds. I’m a white-collar worker, but my job guarantees privacy. I’m not a celebrity or politician, I’m a doctor of some sort. I have enough literature knowledge to make the references I want to with my art, and enough creative experience to execute it well. I’m physically fit, spry, and work out enough to lift the weight and restrain a young male. I’m tall enough to overpower most of my victims, but not too tall as to be noticed. I’m exceptionally good at hiding in plain sight. This is my design.” Will tosses a hand through his hair, staring at the body. Jack steps forward as Will winds to a close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all of the information you can give us, Will?” Will looks over at Jack slowly. His eyes hold none of their usual warmth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the contrary, Mr. Crawford, I could tell you quite a bit. I could tell you that I’d take your tongue, and not your liver. I could tell you that your meat would make a good beef wellington. I could tell you that overpowering you would be easy, and that the only reason I haven’t started disposing of the FBI members working on my case is because I am playing with you. You’ll find me when I want you to, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>then.” Beverly sucks a harsh breath through her teeth, and Brian looks vaguely sick. Hannibal steps forward, grabbing Will’s wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will, you need to exit this mindset. You’re losing control of yourself.” Will breaths in and out, staring at Hannibal. “Will, look at me. This is not you. Let him fade from your body.” Will can’t help but swallow and obey. The Ripper crawls up from his fingertips, withdrawing from his legs and arms and settling in his chest and face. Hannibal grasps his wrist tighter, and the ripper fades back into its proper place; neatly sitting in the deep recesses of Will’s mind. He shakes his head, clearing it, before settling back into his body with finality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good, I’m good.” Jack looks at him with a barely concealed look of glee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was amazing, it was exactly what we needed. We’ve narrowed down our pool of suspects.” Hannibal looks at him with hard eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve once again forced Will into unsteadiness in his own personality. I’ll ask that you let him have a day off tomorrow, to recover.” Jack is focused on the body and waves them both off with a lazy swipe of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, whatever he needs. I’ll see you Wednesday, then.” Will pulls his coat tighter around his body and avoids the incredulous and slightly fearful looks of both Beverly and Brian. Hannibal follows him out of the ranch house, and to his car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think you’re safe to drive home yourself, dear Will?” Will looks up at Hannibal hazily and nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to worry, Lecter. I’m fine.” With a final nod, Hannibal departs for his own car. Will jams the key into the ignition and turns on a loud rock song as he starts the long journey back to Wolftrap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he arrives, it’s dusk. The dogs bark loudly, jumping and nipping at him when he walks through the door. He shrugs his coat off and pulls on a large flannel, leaving it unbuttoned over his t-shirt, before running his hands through the dogs’ soft fur. The largest of the group, Bella, is shedding on his hand. He pulls his fingers through her coat and is left with a fistful of fur that he shakes out on the hardwood. She’ll need a bath soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After feeding the dogs a mix of kibble and raw strips of beef, topped with a cracked egg, he starts on his own dinner. The pan is heavy and comforting in his hand as he starts cooking some bacon. The fat sizzles and pops, leaping from the pan to burn his fingers. Will barely pays it any attention, instead imagining the fond look Hannibal gave him earlier. He feels the phantom touch of Hannibal’s large hand on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking himself once, he unloads the now charred bacon onto a plate and hops up onto the counter. He eats it with his fingers, relishing the soft sting of the hot bacon against his hands. While he eats, his mind drifts. Will remembers the curve of Hannibal’s mouth, the sharp blade of his jaw, the burnt caramel of his piercing eyes. Will’s never been attracted to a man in any intense sense before. Sure, he stared at the odd half-naked man, admiring his physique in a more “I wish that was me” way than anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>sexual. </span>
  </em>
  <span>No, this was an inherently sexual (if not romantic) attraction to the other man. It was setting Will on edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finished his meal in complete silence, rinsing the dishes with practiced motions. His mind was still on Hannibal, and his fond actions towards Will at the crime scene. That’s not to say that Hannibal wasn’t an affectionate man, but it had never been this level of adoration and almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>possessiveness </span>
  </em>
  <span>displayed today. Will found himself tracing the place Hannibal’s hands had rested. Had he been reduced to a pining lover over a decidedly straight man? What did this mean for </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>sexuality? As a general rule, Will tried not to think about anything that was out of his control. Instead, he’d go fishing, walk his dogs, or try to sleep it off. It was too late to go fishing, the dogs had been walked earlier, and he was already exhausted enough to warrant sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went through the motions of stripping, pulling off his normal flannel and jeans ensemble, leaving him in his loose t-shirt and boxers. He flipped the fan on, turned the light out, and curled up in bed under the heavy woolen blankets. Will was wide awake. He tossed and turned, trying to clear his mind and fall asleep, but it was a lost cause. His mind kept replaying the crime scene, more specifically, the carved image of the deer. He remembered the press of the man’s cold skin through his gloves and the artful indentations of the knife on his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bites his lip. There’s always been an issue of desire between him and the Ripper. His kills aren’t inherently sexual, but they set Will off anyway. He thinks of the Ripper above him, a faceless man, carving the deer into his own chest. He imagines the Ripper pressing blood-covered fingers into his mouth, making Will swallow his own blood. He thinks of the Ripper pressing soft kisses to the skin of his neck, the cold metal of his knife against Will’s quivering thighs. It’s to this terrifying image of him being mutilated that Will finally drifts off. He lets out a deep, slow breath, before falling into his next dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He starts by dragging the victim into the hotel room. It’s a cheap hotel, one of those shoddy ones that he pays for by the hour. No one will suspect his involvement in this murder. He’s been meticulous in choosing this victim, a middle-aged man named Dick Harrington. He wants the Ripper to know that he’s noticed his message and that he’s responding back. Who else could it be, but him? Who else could accompany the Chesapeake Ripper than him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will lifts the drugged man onto the bed, next to the other body he collected. This is a younger man, off the street, reeling from heroin and completely out of it.  He presses them next to each other and tries to visualize the reference he’s going for. He pulls out a syringe and overdoses the older man first. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>By the time the second man comes too, the first is completely strung up. His arm is disconnected, hanging separate from the ceiling, and he’s swathed in a soft pink dress. His feet are bare, and his hair is tucked away from his face to show the rouge on his cheeks. He looks regal, strung high in the air, almost as if he’s a floating angel. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will turns to the younger man, watching him struggle to get his wits about him. He sees the dawning of realization on the pretty man’s face when he realizes what’s about to happen. He starts to thrash, trying to make his heavy limbs work. It’s to no avail, as Will quickly subdues him and injects him. This is starting to take too long. He’ll have to rush this next one. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cutting off the man’s arms is messier than the first, blood splattering all over the floor and making an almost film-like image. He leaves the arms in a carefully constructed halo above the younger’s head, stringing and tying them up so they stick. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The dress drapes wonderfully on the younger, and Will brings out the final touches. Stitches will keep the youngers face pressed against the older man’s cheek, in an almost nuzzling and romantic touch. He steps back to admire his handiwork and begins to pack up his tools. This will certainly get the desired message across. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Will wakes to the sharp blaring of his phone. He picks it up without checking the caller, answering blearily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Will. What’s up?” He pulls his bedside alarm closer to him, seeing the flashing red numbers that declare it as 3:00 am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Jack. Can you come to a crime scene?” Will sighs, throwing his head back onto his pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought this was supposed to be my day off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was, yes, but this is a special case.” Will’s already pulling a pair of jeans on, keeping the phone pressed against his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Ripper again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It’s the Angel.” Will freezes. The Angel is bad news. His kills are on par with the Ripper’s, but he kills far more often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wolftrap. Hannibal and the team are already there. It’s at that local motel.” Will nods, despite the fact that Jack can’t see him, and pulls on another flannel and a wool hat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be there in a few.” He hears the click of the call ending and steps out to grab his keys. No time for breakfast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dogs leap around him, licking and pressing against his legs. He pets them on his way out, reassuring them that he’ll be back soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he’s made it to the crime scene, Jack is outside of the motel smoking a cigarette. He steps out of the car, walking up to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?” Jack waves a hand behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Room 7. This does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>look good.” Will nods and follows him inside, before freezing at the sight in front of him. The kill is identical to the one he dreamt about last night, down to the rouge on the older man’s cheeks. Hannibal stands in the corner, admiring the kill with a scrutinizing eye. Will beelines towards him, tapping him and pulling him down to speak in a hushed tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hannibal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Will?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>did this.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Persephone's Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hannibal’s eyes sharpen as he looks down at will. He draws him in closer with a hand, before whispering in his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you certain, Will?” Tears well up in Will’s eyes, but he blinks them away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course, I’ve become my twisted obsession with the Ripper. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He nods, and Hannibal sucks in a surprised breath. He turns to Jack, addressing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After Will walks through this, I’m going to take him back to my house. He’s not well.” Jack scrutinizes the two of them before washing his hands of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Hannibal. Whatever’s best for Will.” Will suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. He’s not completely deluded. He knows that Jack’s easy compliance is just for Jack’s benefit, much like everything the man does. He tugs on a pair of gloves and admires his own kill. This time, when he settles into the killer’s persona, it feels scarily familiar. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He starts to circle the body, remembering the way he strung the bodies up, feeling the soreness in his muscles from having to drag the bodies in. He wants to be disgusted with himself, but all he feels is a sick sense of voureyism. He’s killed these men, and now he’s pretending to help the FBI catch him. If he was a better man, he would’ve turned himself in. It seemed too late, now. He’d gotten a taste of the alluring power of controlling another’s life in his hands. Will could already tell that he’d be addicted. In fact, this wasn’t even the first kill he’d done. He couldn’t remember the other, but he knew that the Angel of Death had around five or so kills attributed to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a reference to something. I want to say a work of art, maybe a painting? There’s a reason they’re wearing the dresses,” he reaches out a hand to caress the silk fabric through his glove. “he’s not trying to turn them into women, he’s referencing the source material as containing women. It’s almost homoerotic, the way his nose is pressed against the other’s cheek. It’s a response, a show of affection, something that tells his object of affection that he sees them and wants them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A response?” Beverly questions, running her hand through her long hair. Will nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve found the killer the Ripper is trying to court.” Jack sucks in a breath. Brian looks more disbelieving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you even tell?” Will goes to answer, but Hannibal beats him to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about the care in the response. The Ripper goes for a more contemporary poet, to both differentiate that kill and choose something the other man will recognize. In return, this killer chooses an older painting as his reference, specifically one with homoerotic subtext, as a response and acceptance of the Ripper’s affection.” Jack sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What painting is it, Lecter?” Will beats him to it, this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene. Sappho is a famous Greek lesbian poet.” Jack nods, mulling the information over. Brian coughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this certainly means one thing; we’re going to be getting a lot more kills from the two of them.” Hannibal hums in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly,” he turns to bore his eyes into Will’s. “the courting process has begun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After having Will scrutinize the body for any other details, and packing it up to send to the morgue, Jack releases them. Will follows Hannibal to his car and watches as he opens the door for Will. The car smells like Hannibal’s cologne, sharp and distinctly masculine. It makes Will shift in his seat, shocked by his positive response to something so inherently manly. Hannibal turns on a classical song and begins driving back to his house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thirty minutes of the drive are spent in comfortable silence, with Will drumming his fingers on the dash and Hannibal humming the music under his breath. Eventually, Will feels compelled to break the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What song is this?” Hannibal looks over at Will before turning his eyes back to the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danse Macabre.” The french flows easily off his tongue, accented only slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems too loud for you. I thought you preferred softer classical music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes, one must enjoy a variety of passionate sounds. This fits this mood best; loud, grating, macabre, affectionately violent.” Will wants to reach out and touch Hannibal’s hands, pull one from the steering wheel, and cradle it in his own. There’s a magnetic pull between him and Hannibal, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>the older man feels it too. After all, Hannibal could have turned Will in, but he didn’t. Will doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they arrive at Hannibal’s neat estate, almost an hour has passed. They’re quiet as they exit the car and enter the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can put your jacket in the closet.” Will nods, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it in the nearby coat closet. Hannibal’s house is lovely, filled with works of art, neat hardwood floors, and intricate rugs. There’s a harpsichord in the far corner of his living room. “Sit anywhere, I’ll make us something to eat.” Hannibal walks into the kitchen, and Will decides to sit at the bar of the island in the center. He stares at the polished granite, watching his own reflection. He looks sickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal pulls something out of the fridge and sets the wrapped package onto the counter. He pulls a skillet from the drawer and opens the package to reveal strips of bacon. Turning the stove on, the older man sets the bacon in the pan and lets it cook in its own fat. He pulls a carton of eggs from the fridge and begins to crack them into a bowl. The cabinet by his left contains spices, and he pulls out a myriad before adding pinches of them into the bowl of eggs. A splash of creamer and the mixture is ready. He plates the bacon and pours the eggs into the skillet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While it begins to cook, Hannibal grabs some fruit from the crisper. He stirs the eggs with a spatula, making fluffy scrambled eggs. These he puts into a bowl. He turns the heat off and places the empty pan in the sink, pulling out a cutting board and a wicked-looking knife. The fruit is a few pomegranates, which he slices and cores easily. He grabs another bowl, pulling the seeds with practiced movements, and draining the leftover juice into two glasses, which fill about a quarter of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will tracks his elegant movements as he pops four slices of bread into a toaster, and grabs two plates from a nearby cabinet. He grabs a few spoonfuls of scrambled eggs, some slices of bacon, and a portion of pomegranate seeds in a separate, smaller bowl on top of the plate. He grabs the bread when it pops up, slathers it in butter and marmalade, and plates those too. The final touch is a bottle of expensive red from the fridge, which he pours to fill up the pomegranate juice glasses. He grabs the plates and heads over to the dining room, indicating that Will should follow with the wine glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit at the table across from each other, and Will hands Hannibal his glass quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Will, you believe that you were responsible for the kill from earlier?” Will nods through a mouthful of fluffy eggs. When he swallows, he addresses Hannibal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a dream about the kill, down to the wire, the night before it happened. Or, at least, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was a dream.” Hannibal nods contemplatively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps you lost time, but not control over yourself. It’s possible that you murdered while disassociated.” Will sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you so calm about this? I’m just admitted that I’m the wanted serial killer.” Hannibal sets down his glass after taking a sip. His lips are tinged red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I expected it to be you, Will. You seem infatuated with the Ripper, and it was only natural that you responded to him. These are the laws of man, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>animals. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You’ve chosen your mate, so to speak, and you’re courting him back. We, at our core, are still governed by instinct. Besides, it’s clear that you were not in control of yourself at the time.” Will scoffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s hardly an excuse for it. You should be turning me into Jack. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>should be turning myself into Jack.” Hannibal shakes his head with a fond smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, why didn’t you.” Will freezes. He could have turned himself in, but he didn’t. He had the option to allow his fate to rest in the hands of justice. And yet, in his gut, he feels as if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>is the only true administrator of justice. His kills are purposeful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I didn’t want to lose my freedom. I want- I want to meet with the Ripper. I want to finish the courting process.” Hannibal nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to do other than try to control yourself. If you find yourself in another dream, resist the urge to hurt or respond to the Ripper. Don’t let yourself be governed by these baser instincts. After all, no one can prove you were responsible for the murder. Perhaps it was all just a dream.” Hannibal clasps his hands. “Since we’re done with our food, I’d suggest you stay here for the night. It might be good to have someone keep an eye on you.” Will nods, feeling the heaviness of sleep settle in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m exhausted. I’ll have to go back to my house tomorrow, though. Someone needs to look after the dogs.” Hannibal shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call someone to look after them. I want to keep you under observation.” A blush settles on Will’s cheeks. The idea of being in Hannibal’s care shouldn’t excite him as much as it does. He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need to be looked after. And yet, it gives him a sense of comfort. Hannibal will take care of his human half, and the draw of the Ripper will soothe his more monstrous self. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guest room is plush, filled with expensive decorations and a gigantic bed. Will doesn’t bother to change out of his clothes, just kicking off his shoes before collapsing into bed. He hears the door click closed behind him and drifts off into sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A silhouette of a man stands in front of him, white eyes and a set of black antlers sprouting from his head. He has no mouth, and yet his voice is clear and loud when he speaks. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Angel.” Will finds himself nodding. Yes, he is the angel, and the man standing across from him is the Ripper. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ripper.” The man advances, reaching out a hand to cup his face. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Soon, my dear. Soon we will be joined. I will walk inside of your spirit, and never come back out. For now, it is my turn. Rest, my love. I will have gifts for you in the morning.” The man sits beside him, wrapping him in his shadowy arms. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will settles into the darkness, reaching his hand through the Ripper’s chest and pulling out his heart. He looks up into the empty white eyes and takes a bite of the meat. The blood tastes like pomegranate. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Will wakes with a start, the sun streaming through the curtains. Hannibal knocks at the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in.” He steps in, bringing a loose sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured these would suit you best. Unfortunately, the sweatshirt is from my college. I hope you don’t mind.” Will waves him off with a sweep of his hand, sitting up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.” Hannibal nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After breakfast, we need to head to another crime scene.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Ripper.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you tell?” Will shrugs, tugging his shirt off and pulling the sweatshirt on. It smells like expensive cologne. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t go anywhere last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Hannibal nods. “that explains it. Well, I’ll leave you to get ready. Come downstairs when you’ve freshened up. I’ll have breakfast ready.” Will nods, and Hannibal leaves the room, clicking the door shut behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a minute for Will to get ready, shaving and washing his face, and brushing his hair with a comb he found in the drawer of the en suite. He dons the jeans, surprised that they’re in his exact size. After scrutinizing his face, he walks downstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal is in the kitchen, plating two bowls of dumplings. Will yawns and stretches, feeling uncharacteristically domestic. It’s almost as if Hannibal and he are lovers, waking up and eating together. The thought shouldn’t make Will as warm as it does, but he accepted his infatuation for the other man a long time ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are these?” Hannibal looks up, giving Will a soft smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cepelinai. Potato dumplings stuffed with ground meat. They’re a traditional dish.” Will nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From your home nationality?” Hannibal nods, bringing out two glasses. He fills them with a sparkling drink before carrying them to the dining room. Will trails behind. “Wine so early in the morning?” Hannibal chuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s sparkling cider. We need our heads clear this morning.” They sit across from each other again and dig in with gusto. The dumplings are warm and flavorful, the meat tender and almost melting on Will’s tongue. He grins up at Hannibal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your future wife is fortunate; you’re an amazing cook.” Hannibal waves it off good-naturedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no wishes to find a husband at this moment.” Will freezes. A husband? Is Hannibal </span>
  <em>
    <span>gay? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gay?” Hannibal smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I am.” Will hums. “Is this an issue?” Will shakes his head immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not. I’m sort of bisexual myself.” Hannibal nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still questioning, meldžiamasis?” Will pauses at the foreign language, admiring the way it flows off Hannibal’s tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m… </span>
  <em>
    <span>interested </span>
  </em>
  <span>in someone, so to speak.” Hannibal’s lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks down at his watch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We must head over, Will.” Will nods, standing up and grabbing his coat from the closet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They settle into the car, and Hannibal pulls it smoothly out of his driveway. The soft hum of another classical song plays in the background, and Will stares out the window. The countryside flashes by, and Will finds his mind drifting to the dream he had last night. The deer god, the Ripper, embracing him. The taste of the heart, and the way the blood dripped down his mouth and onto his naked chest. It was an almost erotic scene, and yet, it was charged with affection. The Ripper truly cares for the Angel, which Will found almost surprising. He would have never even imagined that the Ripper could feel affection for anyone, much less true love and obsession. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrive at the crime scene to see Jack outside, waiting with an exasperated expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Took you long enough. Come inside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re greeted with the body of a dead man seated at the head of a banquet table covered in rotting pomegranates. The man's eyes are hallowed, filled with a substance Will can’t quite make out. He’s draped in a black cloth, almost toga-like. His mouth is open, and his tongue is cut out. The first thing they sense is the wall of stench. The pomegranates are surrounded by flies and nats, and it smells like rotted flesh soaked in cheap perfume. Will sees Beverly and Brian holding their noses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long has this been there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The body is fresh, but the scene is old. It’s staged.” Will nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s in his eyes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pomegranate seeds. Those are also fresh.” Will circles the scene, noticing a bouquet on the chair opposite the body. Bright white petals, filled with a second, smaller ring of yellow petals, the flowers are fresh and vibrant in the darkroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s clearly a play on time here. He had the scene prepared, but wanted to reveal it at a good time. Who tipped this off to the police?” Jack steps forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A homeless man. He squatted in this building and had noticed the pomegranates for a few days. He figured someone else was living there. Eventually, no one had visited, so he headed up to see if he could eat the fruit. He walks in, and there’s the body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the Ripper. There’s a play on time here and a reference to a myth in this scene. That’s as much info I can give you raw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much information can you give us in his personality?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Significantly more.” Jack turns to Hannibal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know he’s been in your care, and that you’re worried about what this is doing to him, but the frequency of these kills are just going to increase.” Will interrupts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can handle it.” Hannibal presses a hand to his shoulder again, filling Will with warmth. Jack scrutinizes it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Will’s decision. If he feels it is best to switch, I have no qualms with him doing so.” Will closes his eyes, letting the gold line swing over the blankness of the inside of his eyelids. When he opens them, he’s the Ripper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes, this is a planned out kill. I start by placing the pomegranates about a week before. I know the Angel well enough that I can tell he’s going to respond, so I have plenty of time to prepare both this kill and future kills. The man is trickier. I get someone with a beard, stockier, with deep-set eyes. I want him to represent someone, which is the reason for the black drapery. He’s a figure, the interpretation of me, once again. He’s Hades,” Will makes a sweeping motion with his hand. “and this is the table of Persephone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pomegranates serve a symbolic purpose. In the myth, Persephone eats a pomegranate seed and is trapped in the underworld with Hades, who she eventually marries. She is kept there six months out of the year, and for the other six, she is returned to her mother, Demeter. Although they have a rougher start, they are one of the steadiest and passionate couples in Greek mythology. This, however, is a bizarre spin on the original tale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of having Persephone as the one eating the pomegranate, I chose Hades. Hades is the God of the underworld, just as I am the God of justice and death. I choose him because, like Hades, I am governed by love for a brighter stranger that I indoctrinate into my darkness. I formed the Angel. I made myself this lover out of the perfect stranger, but I’m shocked at the pull he has on me. I’ve bitten the pomegranate, and now I’m in love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The seeds in the eye represent the blinding qualities of love, and how my sinful bite of this metaphorical apple of Eden has caused me to fall for the Angel. My tongue is cut because he has this gripping hold on me, and I don’t wish to sever him with my words. I could kill him, pay homage to his body, and turn him into a work of art, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This is not a passing obsession, this is true </span>
  <em>
    <span>love. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I must have him, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>have him. When we combine forces, we will be Hades and Persephone. We will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>unstoppable.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Will finishes his monologue beside Hannibal, who leans forward to take a peek at the flowers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s correct. These are Narcissus flowers, Persephone’s favorite. He’s trying to recruit the Angel, and become a partnership of murderers, perhaps murderers who are also lovers, on an eternal killing spree.” Brian shudders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two are scarily accurate. How much time do we have between now and the next kill?” Will hums. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an invitation of murder. It’ll take a while for the Angel to decide, and he might even decide not to join the Ripper at all. I think the next kill will be the Ripper, most likely impatient for a response. I give it about a week, tops? Probably a few days. If the Angel responds, we’ll have a few celebratory kills from the two as they navigate killing together. That period is the best chance we have at catching them as a duo because they might be sloppy. The better chance is if the Angel denies the Ripper’s offer, and is then killed. That will be an emotional kill, which means there’s an almost guarantee of a mistake. If not that, then maybe an offer from the Ripper? Someone that the Angel dislikes, as a courting gift. That might help us figure out who the Angel is, but I doubt the Ripper would be that sloppy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That means we have a week, tops. Let’s get going. Start looking for forensic evidence.” Beverly scoffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a Ripper kill, there’s not going to be anything.” Jack looks back at her, before sighing in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t hurt to double-check, but yes, you’re probably correct.” They hear a flash of a camera and turn to catch a glimpse of red hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, that’s Lounds.” Will struggles not to roll his eyes. He can’t resist muttering under his breath, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking Lounds.” Hannibal turns, and Will sees a flash of mirth in his dark eyes. It warms Will up from his core. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal offers to let Will stay another night, but Will insists on going home. He doesn’t think he could resist kissing Hannibal if they had another domestic night together. Despite realizing the man is gay, he doesn’t have confirmation that Hannibal is into him, specifically. He doesn’t know if Hannibal is into </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s also the issue of him being a literal serial killer courted by the largest murderer in Virginia. He only hopes that the Ripper doesn’t do anything to Hannibal, because then Will would have to kill him, and he doesn’t really want to do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he gets home and finishes feeding the dogs, the new article is up on tattlecrime. The picture of the dead man is grotesque and zoomed-in an uncomfortable amount. The title of the article proudly reads “</span>
  <b>The Courting of Murder Husbands</b>
  <span>” with Freddie’s name tacked on underneath it. Will sighs, skimming through the recap of the murder, and settles back to read it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What does this mean for the terrified citizens of Virginia? Well, it means that the killing won’t stop for a long time. These sickos are intertwined in murder and secrecy, and will probably not be caught by the incompetent workers at the FBI. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Infamous profiler Will Graham is reportedly working on the case, alongside psychiatrist Hannibal Lecter. Inside sources whisper that the two are entangled. What does this mean for the investigation? Can Graham focus with his boyfriend there? Is the FBI allowing open homosexuals on their profiling team? We’re reaching out for an interview with Graham later today, but Lecter declined to comment. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Will stops reading, shocked by the </span>
  <em>
    <span>gall</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Lounds has. He’s surprised each time by how scummy and hateful her writing is. The lack of quality is </span>
  <em>
    <span>astounding</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but her fans are devout, so he’ll most likely be swarmed by tattlecrime fanatics for the next few days. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking about her implication that he and Hannibal are “entangled” makes him warm and fuzzy, and he can’t handle what that means right now, so he heads to bed. He settles underneath the covers, closing his eyes tight. He doesn’t think he’ll go anywhere tonight, because he hasn’t decided to join the Ripper. He’s been thinking about it an unhealthy amount when the natural answer should be no, but he can’t help it. The hand of the devil is outstretched, and he feels the burning desire to grab it. The Angel might fall from heaven. He might leap off the edge, and grin as his wings burn off. He drifts asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The deer man greets him. He steps forward, reaching up to stroke the antlers. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What is it you’ve decided, my love?” He grabs the antlers, pulling and throwing the Ripper onto the floor. Before the man can adjust, he crawls on top of him. Will opens the other man’s mouth, pulling his tongue out with two fingers. It undulates like a tentacle, and Will leans forward to bite it off his mouth. The Ripper struggles before relaxing back into his hold, and Will tosses the tongue away before spitting his mouthful of blood onto the other man’s face. He grins, teeth stained red, before licking it off of the man’s face. It tastes like red wine. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve decided to make you wait.” The Ripper wraps his arms around Will, and his hold tightens. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t make me wait forever, darling boy.” Will tosses his head back and laughs. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I will make you wait for however long I damn well please. I’m not happy that you treated </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>me this way. I’m not happy that you’ve tricked me. You can wait.” The Ripper doesn’t look guilty. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It was necessary.” Will lifts a hand and slaps him across the face. He leans in. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It was </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>cruel</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>He presses a kiss to the Ripper’s cheek before falling through the void of his chest into consciousness. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The ring of his phone wakes him up for the second time in a row. The number is unfamiliar. Will picks it up and is greeted by the gravelly sound of a voice changer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come see me, darling. I have a special surprise for you.” Will grins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” The phone clicks silently, and he tosses his head back onto the pillow. He knows he’s sealed the fate of whoever falls prey to the Ripper, but he doesn’t care. If he’s to join this killer, he needs to know that he’s devoted. He needs to know how much he can push. He drifts back off, imagining the wonderful gift he’s going to receive this week. </span>
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  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OHSSSJDHJSJHDHDSMD ok here we go chapter 2 - sorry for the slow updates my computer go brrrrr bc chromebook. ily guys please comment I beg of you</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>comment. please. i beg u. luv u - les &lt;3<br/>ALSO THE REFERENCES FOR THESE KILLS (I made this up myself - pls tell me if they're shit) are Richard Siken (my fav writer I love him) and a specific painting that will be revealed in the next chapter ohohoh</p></blockquote></div></div>
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